


Gold Stone.

by rajahmalik



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Other, Short Story, The Outsiders, i wrote this a long time ago and i found and realized i actually liked it, johnny cade - Freeform, ponyboy curtis - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 14:28:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6198649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rajahmalik/pseuds/rajahmalik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <strong>this is a short story-ish thing that i wrote sometime last year. it was recently after i read the outsiders. i honestly have no idea where i got the inspiration, but it turned out sort of nice. hopefully it's not too cringey.</strong>
</p>
    </blockquote>





	Gold Stone.

**Author's Note:**

> **this is a short story-ish thing that i wrote sometime last year. it was recently after i read the outsiders. i honestly have no idea where i got the inspiration, but it turned out sort of nice. hopefully it's not too cringey.**

     The leaves crunched beneath his feet and the laces on his shoes slapped against the pavement as he quickly made his way up the street. The wind was pushing against him, making him shiver. Of course he hadn’t brought a jacket. His brother was right: he never used his head. The beautiful November sky was darkening as the sun began to sink beneath the horizon, washing the street in a beautiful golden light.

  
     Ponyboy Curtis licked his lips as he turned around the corner and up to the tall iron gate. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat as he slowly stepped onto the pathway and made his way through the bunches of stone. His eyes began to burn with unshed tears, but he convinced himself that it was just the strong wind. He had finally mustered up the courage to come here and pay his respect. The light padding of his feet against the stone sounded like thunder in the middle of a silent town. The trees were almost completely bare, with only a few once glorious leaves. The air smelled of dry leaves and the slight start of winter.

  
     The street was almost completely deserted as Pony finally stopped at a small rectangular stone. He bit his lip and closed his eyes briefly, pushing back the wetness in his eyes. When he opened them, the sunlight was an orange-gold color, reflecting off of the rock in front of him. He slowly sat down on the cold hard dirt, not thinking about the discomfort. On the stone was written: JOHNNY CADE. 1951-1967. Pony took a shaky breath and let it out, the air in front of him clouding up in a white mist. He looked down at the drying flower in his hand and felt pathetic. He felt stupid and embarrassed as he placed it on the ground in front of the stone. He knew he couldn’t do much, but he tried. The grass around the stone was dry and the color of dull gold. The color Johnny was now. Pony shook his head, ridding himself of the thought.

  
     Johnny wasn’t dull, but he certainly was gold. Pony remembered his big black eyes, filled with fear and suspicion and understanding. He remembered that thick black hair that always fell over his tan face. He remembered the scar on his left cheek. The wind was biting Pony’s arms, causing goosebumps to rise on them. He tried to say something, but the only things coming out were hot tears, dotting his cheek. He looked over to the west and watched the sun slowly drown underneath the horizon. His mouth suddenly tasted like bologna and coke and stale cigarettes.

  
     Ponyboy sat there for a long while, even after the sun had vanished and only a soft yellow gold tinted the sky. Finally, he stood up slowly and pushed his hand into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and putting it between his teeth. He looked down at the tombstone once more as he lit up. The bright light of the flame reflected off of the silvery rock, and it was gone in an instant. It reminded him of someone. He took a long drag and pulled the cancer stick out of his mouth. Before walking away, Pony ran his fingers lightly along the edge of the stone. His lips were dry and warm as he quietly whispered, “Stay gold, Johnnycake.” He pulled his fingers away and quickly turned around, making his way out of the field of the dead. Even as he placed his cigarette back in between his lips and jogged home, he remembered the worn out but hopeful look in Johnny’s eyes as he lay on the hospital bed, muttering the same words: “Stay gold, Ponyboy.”


End file.
